Cyril got married at twenty-four. His wife, Emily, was twenty-two. She was the only and late-born child of a professor and a schoolteacher. Soon after the wedding, they had two boys in quick succession, followed by a daughter.
Emilys mother retired and devoted herself to the grandchildren.
Cyril had an odd relationship with her. He always addressed her formally as “Mrs. Natalie Antonov,” and she replied with a reserved, chilly “you,” never shortening his name. They never argued, but her presence made him uneasy. Still, credit where its dueshe never interfered, spoke to him with deliberate respect, and remained strictly neutral in his marriage.
A month ago, the company Cyril worked for went bankrupt, and he was laid off. Over dinner, Emily remarked,
“Mums pension and my salary wont stretch forever, Cyril. You need to find work.”
Easier said than done. Thirty days of pounding the pavement, and nothing!
Frustrated, Cyril kicked an empty beer can. Thank God his mother-in-law hadnt said anything yet, but her pointed looks spoke volumes.
Before the wedding, hed overheard a conversation between mother and daughter.
“Emily, are you sure hes the one you want to spend your life with?”
“Mum, of course!”
“I dont think you realise the responsibility. If your father were alive…”
“Oh, Mum, enough! We love each otheritll be fine!”
“And children? Can he provide?”
“He can!”
“Its not too late to reconsider, Emily. His family…”
“Mum, I love him!”
“Well, dont come crying to me later!”
“Nows the time for crying,” Cyril thought grimly. His mother-in-law had seen right through him.
He didnt want to go home. He imagined Emilys forced encouragement”Dont worry, tomorrow will be better!”her mothers silent disapproval, the kids smirking, “Dad, found a job yet?” He couldnt face it again.
He wandered along the riverside, sat on a park bench, and as night fell, drove to the cottage where his family spent summers. A single light glowed in Natalies bedroom. Creeping up the path, he stepped on a tree stump and yelped.
The curtain twitched.
“Cyrils late. Have you called him, Emily?”
“Yes, Mum. His phones off. Probably still job-huntingor sulking somewhere.”
Natalies voice turned icy.
“Emily, dont you dare speak about your husband like that!”
“Oh, Mum, really? I just think Cyrils slacking. A whole month on my back!”
For the first time in six years, Cyril heard her slam the table and raise her voice.
“Enough! You vowed to stand by himfor better or worse! Support him!”
Emily backtracked.
“Sorry, Mum. Dont upset yourself. Im just tired.”
“Go to bed,” Natalie sighed.
The light went out. Cyril heard her pacing, then the curtain shifted. She peered into the dark, then looked up, crossing herself fervently.
“Lord, Merciful and Compassionate, protect my son-in-law, the father of my grandchildren. Dont let him lose heart. Help him, Lordmy dear boy!”
She whispered prayers, tears streaming down her face.
A warmth swelled in Cyrils chest. No one had ever prayed for himnot his stern mother, whod dedicated her life to the council, nor his father, whod vanished when Cyril was five. Hed grown up in nurseries, schools, after-care. At university, hed worked straight awayhis mother despised idleness.
The heat spread, rising until tears pricked his eyes. He remembered Natalie rising early to bake his favourite pies, simmering rich stews, her dumplings a marvel. She tended the children, kept the house, grew vegetables, made jams, pickled cucumbers, cabbage…
Why had he never noticed? Why hadnt he thanked her? He and Emily had just worked, had children, assumed it was normal. Or had he? Once, watching a show about Australia, Natalie mentioned shed always dreamed of visiting. Hed joked the heat would melt her “ice queen” demeanour…
Cyril sat under the window, head in hands.
At breakfast, he joined Emily on the veranda. The table was ladenpies, jam, tea, milk. The childrens faces bright. He looked up and softly said,
“Morning, Mum.”
She startled, then smiled.
“Morning, Cyril.”
Two weeks later, he found work. A year after that, he sent Natalie to Australiadespite her protests.
